


Musical Interlude

by zombiechick



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiechick/pseuds/zombiechick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara and The Doctor stop off at an open mic because we all need more mental imagery of the twelfth doctor and his guitar.  Rated E for the inevitable backstage groupie smut.  According to the episode "The Girl Who Died", The Doctor loves puppets.  So, I suppose that I should amend that in the summary at least. *shrugs* Who knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had, mostly, been Clara's idea to return to the open mic night on Citoxe's smallest moon. They'd visited before and it had been fun, except for the puppets.

"What's wrong with puppets?" Clara asked The Doctor as he scowled at the small stage where a princess and an evil witch cavorted.

"They can't be trusted," he stated simply and leaned back in his chair, attack eyebrows trained on the miniature scene in front of him.

Clara had just laughed at him.

She had an ulterior motive for wanting to go back to the open mic. Ever since Clara had watched The Doctor riding in to the middle of a medieval arena, pounding bar chords out on his guitar, she'd been stuck. She couldn't get the image of him wailing on that guitar out of her mind. Sometimes, she would hear him playing it in secluded parts of the TARDIS but she never went looking for him. 

She had wanted to; desperately. She wanted to sit and watch him, his focus so intent on the instrument in his hands, his fingers flying, his shoulders tensed. Clara realized, with just the tiniest twinge of embarrassment, that she had managed to become addicted to The Doctor in a completely new way.

Aside from the puppets, which made another appearance, much to the Doctor's annoyance, there was a great variety of musical acts at the open mic. Most of them played instruments that Clara had never heard of. The Doctor happily lectured her about the origins of all the ones he knew about, and probably a few that he'd never actually seen before. Clara didn't mind- the noise of the crowd and the music, forced them to huddle close together so that The Doctor could whisper to her. 

Clara clutched a napkin in one hand, under the table, to keep from shivering each time his thick Brogue caressed her ear. If he noticed her reaction, he didn't say anything. Though she noted that he was being unusually touchy with her.

'Cheeky,' Clara thought as The Doctor placed a hand on her knee to get her attention, leaving it there once he'd finished whispering to her about the origins of the Glauvian glass flutes the current performer was playing. As he leaned back in his chair, angled so that their shoulders touched, Clara saw, from the corner of her eye, The Doctor give her one of his lopsided and toothy grins. Clara took a rather large drink from her pint and kept her eyes trained on the stage.

The blue fellow, who was acting as MC, took the mic once again. He thanked all of the performers and asked the audience, "Anyone else out there care to amuse us with their talent, real or imagined?"

"Right here," Clara stood up, signaling to the MC.

The Doctor stared at her, his eyes wide. Grabbing her hand, he tried to pull her back down as he hissed, "Clara, I've heard you sing. I wouldn't advise this."

She reminded herself to give him a verbal bollocking, or at least add a card to his deck, for that remark later, "I meant you, you idiot."

His eyes lit up, "Oh, well, yeah, that's a great idea," and ran off to fetch his guitar and amp from the TARDIS.

After getting another drink, Clara moved closer to the stage so that she could stare at him more openly, under the guise of just being a good and attentive audience member. He was, as Clara well knew, quite good and so ended up doing a short set all on his own. Despite the alien nature of the crowd, there turned out to be a fair number of fans of Earth punk rock. The Doctor had a great time taking requests, reworking the lyrics to make the crowd laugh, and generally showing off.

The Doctor had discarded both his jacket and his hoodie. He stood on stage clad in boots, dark plaid trousers, and several layers of t-shirts. He was grinning like mad, breathing a little heavier from the exertion of playing, and making eyes at the crowd over the top of his sunglasses. Clara finished yet another drink, trying to hide the answering grin that suffused her face, pressing her thighs together, hard, beneath the table to try and quell some of the ache that came from watching The Doctor like this.

Finishing one song, The Doctor paused to take a drink from his own pint, "You've been a lovely audience...," he began, obviously meaning to bow off the stage. The audience cried out for one more song and, being The Doctor, he couldn't very well refuse them.

"Alright then," The Doctor answered them, readjusting his guitar. "One more, and this one," he swiveled toward Clara and gave her a heated look over the top of his sunglasses, "is dedicated to Ms. Clara Oswald."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song's the thing.

Clara grinned, squirming in her seat, her hands wrapped around her glass, as The Doctor quickly broke into a rather loud, and distorted, version of "What Do I Get" by Buzzcocks. 

"I just want a lover like any other,  
What do I get?"

Clara took a drink to hide her blush at The Doctor using the word "lover." He noticed, regardless, and gave her a predatory grin.

"I only want a friend who will stay to the end,  
What do I get?"

Clara bit at her lower lip, feeling a pang of sadness at the connotation. 

The Doctor leaned out over the stage toward her, his words only for Clara, though the crowd went mad with his slinking movements.

"I only get sleepless nights  
Alone here in my half-empty bed."

Clara made eyes right back at him, trying to convey how she'd like to help him with that particular problem.

The audience helped out with the call and repeat section:  
"WHAT DO I GET?"

The Doctor, grinning, answered back:  
"Nothing that's nice."

Managing to sound a bit sad in their answer, the audience responded:  
"WHAT DO I GET?"

With his mouth slightly turned down and sad, totally playing it up, The Doctor answered:  
"Nothing at all."

Clara joined in on the chanting:

"At all, at all, at all  
At all, at all, at all!"

Everyone stopped and allowed The Doctor his dramatic last line, practically falling off the stage, as he sang to Clara:

"'Cos I don't get you."

The entire place erupted in cheers as he finished. The Doctor took center stage and happily bowed, with large flourishing gestures of his long arms, holding his guitar up to pound out some cacophonous sounds. When he looked up, Clara was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets waylaid by an enthusiastic groupie on the way back to the TARDIS.

Assuming that Clara had gone for another drink, The Doctor gathered his gear and headed backstage. He had parked the TARDIS in the back alley in a brief attempt at anonymity. 

Walking passed the darkened doorway of a dressing room, The Doctor shouted in surprise as a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Turning to confront his attacker, his amp and jackets cradled in front of him as a shield, The Doctor was further surprised to see a wild-eyed Clara eying him with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"There you are," he commented, glancing down at her hand that firmly gripped fistfuls of his t-shirt. "I thought you'd...," The Doctor was cut off as Clara pulled him down to her waiting lips.

She kissed him hard, pushing him back against the open door. Tugging at his t-shirt, Clara groaned into his mouth, practically standing on her toes to get some leverage as the amp, and his jackets, kept her at a distance. Beginning to feel light-headed, she broke the kiss and stepped back, still gripping The Doctor's shirt. "That was brilliant," she panted.

The Doctor smiled, "My playing, or the kiss?" he asked.

Clara growled, "You are completely insufferable," she told him, tugging on his shirt in mock irritation.

"That's what you get," he grinned.

Clara reached up to take his glasses from his face, folding them and tucking them in her coat pocket. The Doctor looked a bit concerned at the treatment of his shades, but his attention was pulled back to Clara as she brought his face to her height once more, "You can, yeah?"

"Can what?" The Doctor asked, his eyes trained on her lips.

"Get me," Clara grinned at him as she pulled him to her for another kiss.

The Doctor moaned, sliding lower so that he could set his amp down on the floor. Looking to the doorway, he sat his guitar case down as well, leaning it against the door jam. His hands free, The Doctor grabbed Clara by the waist. His hands slid up, and under her leather jacket to stroke her back through the thin dress that she wore. 

Clara's hands were busy underneath his t-shirts, sliding over his lower belly and up to glide over his chest. She found a wonderful strip of grey hair that bisected his torso, leading back to his navel, and spent several moments tracing it with her fingers while sucking The Doctor's tongue into her mouth. Following the trail of wiry hair to The Doctor's over-sized belt buckle, that adorned the black leather belt he wore, Clara quickly did away with it, as well as the button and zip on his trousers.

The Doctor laughed, pushing himself back against the door, and away from Clara's hand that was currently sliding into his boxers. "Care to join me in the TARDIS, Ms. Oswald?" he asked, panting.

Clara shook her head, "I'm good here," she assured him and then dropped to her knees.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worship of a rock god. Clara proves herself to be an adventurous groupie. Not sure what I want to do with the final chapter. Give me some suggestions and I'll tailor it to readers' desires.

The Doctor's mouth fell open as he watched Clara take his hardened member from his boxers. "Here?" he squeaked.

"It's traditional," she assured him as she slid her fingers up and down his shaft, pumping him lightly, "backstage worship of a rock god." She grinned cheekily, noticing that The Doctor didn't bother to dispute the title she'd given him.

"So you're a groupie?" he smiled as he moaned.

"I prefer the term 'companion," Clara said with mock seriousness.

The Doctor glanced at the doorway, licking at his lips. He looked down to find Clara locking gazes with him. As he stared into her mischievously, twinkling, eyes, she opened her mouth and took the tip of his cock between her soft lips. The Doctor threw his head back, giving himself a sharp rap on the skull, against the dressing room door, and groaned out several phrases in Gallifreyan.

Allowing him to slip from her mouth, Clara sat back on her heels, obviously hugely proud of herself, "Problem?" she asked.

"New, uh...," The Doctor chuckled and caressed Clara's cheek, "new body," he explained. "Sensitive."

"So this," she leaned forward and licked gently up his shaft, "would be a bit too much?" she smiled and blew her warm breath all along the length of him.

The Doctor's head, once again, connected with the door and he groaned loudly, "Clara!"

"Careful," she advised, "going to give yourself a concussion."

"Time Lord euthermia is considerably lower than human normothermia which exhibits higher temperatures in the late evening or during sexual arousal," The Doctor panted as Clara took the head of his cock into her mouth again.

She chuckled as she let him slide from her lips and nuzzled at his lower stomach, "In English?"

"Your mouth is extremely hot," he groaned.

"Lovely compliment," she grinned, placing kisses on his shaft.

"Clara," The Doctor begged, his brogue becoming thick with need.

Understanding the greater meaning behind that one word, Clara wrapped one hand around his base. Her eyes trained on The Doctor's face, his bottom lip held between his teeth, muscles straining in his neck and shoulders, his hands clenched.

When her lips slid down his length to take him completely into the warmth of her mouth, The Doctor's head slammed against the door hard enough that Clara heard a decided crack as the wood gave way. His hands flew forward and he laced his long fingers together, his knuckles going white at the tension in his grip. Clara sat up on her knees to brush her head against his hands, giving him permission to run them through her hair.

He sighed as her soft tresses slid through his fingers. The Doctor's hands cradled Clara's head carefully, controlling the rhythm of her movements on his cock. Groaning her name in a gravelly tone, The Doctor's eyes fluttered open when Clara's tongue stroked his shaft, her mouth still holding him fully. He watched her head bob as her ministrations drove him quickly to a release.

Clara's free hand snaked up The Doctor's stomach, under his t-shirts, stroking his cooler skin. The soft movements of her fingers were a delicious counterpoint to the more intense sucking motion of her mouth. 

A quiet chanting of her name issued from The Doctor's lips as his fingers tangled in her hair. His hips bucked as Clara's thumb rubbed at the base of his member. The Doctor widened his stance, his toes curling hard in his boots, as he took a decidedly deep breath and held it for several seconds before bellowing Clara's name as he came into her willing mouth.

Licking him clean, and then sitting back on her heels, Clara smiled at the wonderfully disheveled image before her. "Well?" she asked cheekily.

One hand reaching out to stroke her cheek, the other dragging roughly through his hair, he croaked, "Bravo."

"A rave review," Clara laughed as she stood up. 

The Doctor quickly collected his guitar, and coat draped amp, as Clara grabbed up a fistful of his t-shirts and dragged him back to the TARDIS.


End file.
